


The Effects of Necromancy

by Alicebekett



Category: West of Loathing (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, POV Second Person, Spooky horse, angst but with a happy ending, necromancy is a slippery slope here people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicebekett/pseuds/Alicebekett
Summary: In an effort to help Alice in her quest to root out the necromancer, you read the first Nex-Mex book. In doing so, you set off a chain of events that nearly breaks your friendship apart. That nearly breaks you apart. Necromancy is a slippery slope of arcane secrets, maybe-sentient books, and a breakdown of your body that is unprecedented as it can be terrifying for the unaware.A real hard look at the perks gained when reading the Nex-Mex books.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	The Effects of Necromancy

**Author's Note:**

> This is over 10k words long, and so different from what I normally write, but this story stole my heart, soul, and brain for a week while I wrote it so here it is. Hopefully someone else will like it too. I didn't capture the feel of the game, that wasn't what I was trying to do anyway, but just wanted to really zero in on this particular aspect of the game. Especially when you have Alice as your pardner.

As the sun dips towards the western horizon, you and Alice agree to set up camp for the night. A small, little thing. It doesn’t take very long to set up, which is fortunate. As the sun dips below the horizon, you get the fire lit and shoo Alice to bed. Camp is backed up against two large rocks in the hope of providing some good defence should anything come up in the night.

Hopefully it won’t be skeletons again. The goblins, considering you can now speak to them, are easy enough to chat with. Redirect their attention. Most are curious about the fire you lit, or how Tim’s rideable, given he’s a ghost and is mostly see through.

Alice and her shotgun, or more recently her bone saw, do good work against skeletons though. And you can’t be more grateful for that. She’s saved your ass more than you’ve saved hers, even when she’s drunk enough whiskey she can’t shoot straight.

You’re first for watch. Alice is laying on her bedroll, snoring away. A bottle of whiskey clenched in one hand, and the other splayed close to her shotgun. How she’s twisted herself around like that you’re not sure, but she seems comfortable enough.

Sitting cross legged on your own bedroll, you can’t help but stare into the darkness not so far away. The stars are beautiful, as they always are, shimmering above you in a way you recognize. It’s like home, not like Dirtwater where the light makes them more difficult to see.

Alice lets out another snore, half rolling onto her other side, and your gaze shifts to your backpack. 

All you’ve done, in some effort to help her, is try to sort out where the necromancer is. Where the cultists are, trying to figure out the mystery of dead people walking. So that way others don’t need to feel the same pain and grief when their loved one’s bones get up and start walking.

You’re a beanslinger, still learning, but got plenty of experience under your belt now. The mysteries you dreamed of as a child are fading away beneath your growing expertise, and you know it won’t be much longer before you’re a master of the arts. Capable of cooking, or slinging, any bean you come across. 

Except...for one.

You reach into your bag and pull out a book. Introductory Nex-Mex. It weighs heavy in your hands, and you can’t help but feel that even Tim is taking notice. Though, it’s hard to tell, considering the low light. He could just be looking into the darkness beyond, same as you. He gives a ghostly whicker, then sets about eating some ghost oats. You’ll have to get more of those when you make it back to Dirtwater. You can’t have him...starve? You shake yourself, and look back to the book..

Alice wouldn’t like this, you know that. She’d lectured you on keeping the book for nearly half an hour after you’d found it. Demanding to know why you didn’t sell it, or destroy it. 

But like with everything: you’re too stubborn for that. You left home to learn, to grow powerful and wealthy, to help people. Out here, with the hellcows and robots and everything you need every edge you can get. You have to prove Rufus wrong: you will be one of the people who carve out a niche in this place. You’ll make it to Crimbo and beyond, just to prove him wrong.

You open the book ,and begin to read. Soon, you’re completely absorbed in it. Flipping the pages faster and faster as the intricate knowledge is spelled out for you. A new spell, one that will strike fear and dread in your enemies. It’s powerful.

Grinning skull. Maybe you confront them with death? Make them see what everyone fears? Scare them with the visage of a ghostly skull is sure to make them think about their own death, right?

When you reach the last page, it crumbles to dust in your hands. Then blows away in the wind. 

You know, fundamentally, then and there you are a changed person. Not a necromancer, not by a long shot, but there is something alluring about all of this. There is power, here, in this. And you know, no matter what Alice might say, you need more. You’ve dipped your toes into a freezing cold pool of water, as deep and fathomless as anything can be. And you desire more, to swim its depths and find its secrets. This is only the beginning.

When Alice takes over for watch, several hours later, you sink into an uneasy sleep. Dreaming of skeletons groveling at your feet, and a feeling of complete and utter power. 

(LINE BREAK)

“You’re not going to read that, are you?” Alice’s voice is hot and sharp, not slurred at all.

You jump, fumbling with the book in your hands. You shoot her a frown. “No-Yes. Yes. I’m hoping to learn more. Maybe there’s a clue to add to the journal. You know we still can’t figure out where their lair is.” A couple of tantalizing clues, but that’s it. It’s not enough to sort out where the necromancer’s lair is, but you have a general idea. Better than before, at any rate. Still, it’ll take more than some robe receipts and a few hints.

“We’re here to route them out, not join them.” Her eyes are cold, almost dispassionate if it weren’t for the rage blazing behind them, barely contained. “You know better. I ain’t stupid, I know that new spell of yours isn’t normal.”

You can’t help but huff. That spell, the grinning skull one, has saved you both almost as much as Beanie the Bean Golem has. You clench the book in your hands, completely unwilling to part with it. Even as you register Alice’s hand reaching towards it. “There’s knowledge here we can use, Alice! I’m trying to help sort this all out, you’ll see.”

“Go on then.” Alice snarls, standing up and going to stomp over to the edge of camp. Lighting a cigarette before taking a swig from her current bottle. The potent booze doesn’t seem to faze her in the least, even as she stares out across the flat plain before you all.

Tim gives of a curious, if spine-chilling wicker. You get the sense he’s trying to help, but all he does is make you want to learn more. After all, what sort of ghost horse was birthed naturally?

You’re opening the book before you really realize it. Once again devouring its contents, quicker and quicker. It outlines rituals now, just the basics. It’s enough, more than enough, combined with what you already know to get something better than a ghost skull to scare whoever you want. 

You can raise a thrall now. A skeleton friend, probably similar to Beanie. An extra friend in battle, what a novelty.

You go to run your fingers across the back of the book, staring off into the middle distance, but it’s already gone. Maybe back to the netherworld where it belongs, maybe out to find the next person worthy of wielding its secrets. 

Your hair, dark and beautiful like your father’s, shifts in its ponytail. So you go to use your fingers to comb out the worst of the tangles only to realize something. Your hair doesn’t feel the same. It’s...finer, almost. Smoother, in spite of the dirt and grime of the day. 

You fluff it out, then bend forward. Letting your locks fall forward to where you can see them. Snow white, rather than chocolate brown. Stick straight now too, rather than wavy. You stare for a long moment, running your fingers through a small section. Marveling in the difference. 

Power can’t come without sacrifices. You’ve been beaten unconscious enough times to know that. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, in spite of the boasting and confident postcards you send home.

By the time you get to retying your hair, Alice has finished her cigarette and gone to her bedroll. Her back is to you, and while you can’t help but feel the need to point out that you’re still you, you get the sense it would fall on deaf ears. 

The next morning, both of you pretend not to notice Alice holding her shotgun a little closer, or the glaring, or how she won’t let you go behind her. You’re always in front of or to the side, never behind.

(LINE BREAK)

The next book is too easy to find, and since Alice is busy loitering near the entrance off the building, it’s even easier to slip it into your backpack alongside a few other curiosities worth looting. It’s power tingles beneath your fingers, and you can’t help but feel its weight against your back for the rest of the afternoon. 

This time, you’re going to Dirtwater. It’s been long enough now that Rufus will have written back, and you’ve found another prepaid postcard to send him. It isn’t much, maybe, but it’s better than nothing. Better than trying to write letters. You don’t know what you would write, anyway. Postcards are just too easy.

Alice stays in the Jewel as you go to the post office. It suits you fine, considering the recent tension. Let Lloyd take some of her unhappiness for a bit. Maybe, with some proper food and a decent bed, Alice won’t be so angry in the morning. 

Still, though, you can feel the weight of the book against your spine. And you know, deep inside, that you won’t leave it unread for much longer. 

Package of special air received, and happy postcard sent home, you go back to the Jewel. Going up the rickety stairs outside directly into your room. 

It isn’t much. Little more than a bathroom, vanity, a desk, and two beds, but it’s better than sleeping on the ground for sure.

Alice hasn’t made her way upstairs yet either, which is interesting. She always has an uncanny sense of your location, able to pinpoint you for a good distance with some accuracy. 

Given the opportunity, you pull the book into your lap. Sitting on the bed, cross-legged, your boots and hat discarded near your backpack, you’re about as comfortable as you can get this far west. 

Intermediate Nex-Mex draws you in the same way its brethren have: utterly and completely. This time, it's all about replenishing your blood supply. Drawing the blood and health of your enemies and making it your own. Perfect. You’ve seen something like this in action before, when dealing with other necromancers, but it’s good to finally see the inner workings of it spelled out for you. Building off the concepts of the last books…

It fades away when you’re finished, in a final pulse of a dark magic that you’re just now truly beginning to understand. Exhaustion weighs heavily on you, but that’s only fair. To be expected, considering how much of a toll the necromantic arts can have on a person. Few people who try to go down this path ever make it this far. It’s a testament to your strength that you haven’t given up yet, honestly.

You wrap yourself in your thick blanket, close your eyes, and are asleep before Alice finishes her drink and joins you. 

When you awake the next morning, Alice has already gone. Her bed rumpled and an empty bottle half-under the bed. So she had come in.

You lay in bed for a few minutes more, enjoying the creaking of the wooden building, the sounds of people on the street outside, more customers downstairs, the piano you fixed, all of it good white noise while you try to figure out what you’ll be doing today.

Eventually, though, you get up. Swinging your feet over the side of the bed to sit up and stretch, yawning as your muscles move.

You go to scratch your cheek, only to find your face feeling...different. Sharper. There’s a hollowness to your cheek, now, like the fat has melted away. 

When you stand to cross the room to check yourself in the mirror, your pants fall down around your ankles and your shirt hangs dangerously off of one shoulder. You stoop to pick up your pants, holding them in one hand as you shuffle to stare at yourself in the vanity mirror. 

You look...older. Almost infinitely older than you feel, than you know yourself to be. Your white hair is frizzy and half out of the bun you’d put it in before sleeping, and you’re emaciated. Your shirt is baggy. Your belt loose enough around your waist your pants had no chance of staying up. Your face is different now too, lacking the extra flesh of youth. 

Your eyes are still yours, but your body feels...almost alien.

“Hey, are you-” Alice freezes as she enters. The door half open as she stares at you, and you stare at her through the mirror. Her shoulders tense, her lips thin into a strict line as you shuffle to face her. 

“I uh, don’t suppose you’d be willing to go to the store for me. Pick up some new clothes?” You ask. Please please please, don’t make me go outside like this. Pants barely on, barefoot, still not awake enough to brave the day. Much less looking like a child who tried on their parents clothes.

Alice doesn’t say anything. Simply takes a step back and shuts the door behind her. You hear the stairs creak as she goes downstairs. You shuffle to go sit on the bed. 

Another sacrifice, then, for power. It’ll take some getting used to, being so thin, but it had to have some good things about it Like being able to wiggle into tight spaces easier, taking up less room in your bedroll, saving on clothes since they’d be smaller. You won’t be as strong, but this gives you an excuse to clear out your backpack and saddlebags. Really sort out what you need and don’t need. Make some extra meat.

A little while later, Alice comes back. Throws a bundle of clothes and a new belt at you and then leaves again. 

You take your time getting dressed. Noting your jutting bones, muscles visible, and wondering if Rufus would recognize you if he saw you again.

(LINE BREAK)

The next book takes a little longer to find, having been stuffed between the game volumes in Fort Memoriam. Worth it, though, even considering Alice’s glaring. 

Somehow, you hold off from reading the book all day. Cracking open crates, looting whatever you come across. You even help a family get to Dirtwater before riding out into the desert again. 

Night finds you faster than you’d like, but that’s nothing new. Nothing quite like adventuring to make the time pass, especially when trying to talk to goblins. Nice folk, decent by and large, but part of you wonders how the hell they’ve made it this long without accidentally killing themselves with their ideas.

A gun with the engravings on the inside. Damned good thing you talked some sense into him before it exploded in his hands. 

Tim has his saddle off, which is resting beside you on the desiccated log you’re sitting on, and is rolling on the ground. Kicking up a minor dust storm in his wake. You’re not entirely certain if this is doing anything for the horse, he is still a ghost after all. Can ghosts get itchy? But he’s having fun and that’s what matters. 

“I’ll take first watch.” You volunteer, when Alice comes back from doing a little walk about your campsite. Making sure it is as safe as it seems. “We had a rough day.”

“You’re going to read that book, you mean.” Alice scoffs. She rolls out her bedroll, though, as you get set to cooking. That’s the one thing she doesn’t argue much about, even now, you cooking. She’s set fire to enough things that you both know you’re the only one that won’t doom you both to food poisoning or worse. 

Annoyance flickers, then, but you roll your eyes and brush it off. Stirring the beans and noting that the meat was cooking well in its own pan. Even now you can remember what this sort of thing was like, before the Cows Came Home. Remember sitting around your mom’s oven and watching her cook meat. You still miss the taste of non-infernal milk and butter, even to this day. Something about the damning changes the flavour in a way you simply can’t get rid of.

Simpler times, for sure. Maybe not better, but simpler. 

“Probably.” You say, after serving you both. You make sure Alice gets the lion’s share of the food. Since reading the last book, your appetite has been non-existent. It’s not healthy, you know, and whatever colour you might have had is slowly draining from you as your body struggles to cope, but you’re dealing with things as best you can. 

Sacrifices must be made for the sake of power, for the sake of peace. You’ll do whatever you need to do to wipe out the necromancers that hurt Alice so much, even if it means damning yourself in the process.

Alice shakes her head, and eats after watching you pick at yours for a bit. It’s been hard on her, you know, to see you choose this path. To walk it willingly. She’s been able to take better notes, figure out better ways to deconstruct skeletons of all sorts by watching you, but that doesn’t mean she’s happy about it. “You really shouldn’t. Look at what it’s doing to you.”

“The spells have helped us.” It’s almost easy banter by now, this conversation. It’s all you seem to do now, is fight about it.

“It’s killing you.”

You purse your lips at that, fork hovering above your plate but below your mouth. “I’m fine.”

“You aren’t.” There’s a critical look in her eyes, one that always makes you uncomfortable. It’s one you’re familiar with, of course. Whenever you stop to help someone medically, or whenever you’ve been hurt before. It’s the same evaluating look she’d shot you when you first walked into her house all those months ago, back in Boring Springs. 

You huff, roll your eyes. Take a bite of food that, as delicious as you know it to be, simply holds no appeal. You chew, taking what minor pleasure you can from the spice blend, and swallow. “I’m alright. Stronger than I look.”

“That is true, but that doesn’t make it better. You’re weaker than you were, and growing weaker the more you go without eating. Is it...related?” There’s an edge, but it’s telling that there’s still concern in her voice.

You stare down at the contents of your plate, pushing them around idly. “I don’t know.” You say truthfully. “The more I...go into this, the more I’m being tugged between here and the magical plane. It could be there’s a disconnect between my body and myself.”

“Given the rapid changes, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Alice says dryly. “You’ve done a lot to yourself these last few months. You look almost nothing like you did.”

“It’s fine.” You say blandly. “Power can’t come without sacrifice.”

“I know.” Alice says grimly. “But there’s a line. I guess...you just need to ask yourself if it's worth it to cross that line or not.”

The rest of dinner is eaten in silence. Alice washes the dishes while you rest a little before she retires properly. You...won’t admit it to her, but you feel a little better for having eaten a full portion. Even if the weight of it feels weird in your stomach.

Alice goes to sleep as she always does these days: back to you, cradling both a bottle of whiskey and her shotgun. Tim is off trying to graze at some scrabbly looking, questionably-alive-but-definitely-not-ghost plants.

And you’re alone. The desert feels and looks endless this far out. The sky above is equally endless and dark, like the ocean you’ve yet to reach.

You take the book out of your bag and look at it. Studying the worn cover, tracing your fingers along the lettering. Frightening Topics in Nex-Tex. If raising a skeleton buddy, or scaring your foes with a ghost skull weren’t frightening. What was?

Do you really need to know? Does this power matter? Whatever unknown this is, is it worth playing into Alice’s fears? 

You sit on the ground as long as you can before shifting to sit on the log. It, too, presses against your bones and hurts after only a few minutes, but it's more bearable than the ground. 

You flip to the first page without really realizing it. Reading is slow at first as your conscious tugs at you, but you’re hooked within the first five pages. 

Frightening topic...Well it wasn’t frightening until you thought of the implications. Using chips of someone’s skull, a wizard more specifically, to conjure a skeletal thrall? That was terrifying, on a deep and personal level. That you would die in such a way as to your skull smashing apart into pieces, or that necromancers would dig you up to break you for this purpose.

Or that it was wizard skulls they were looking for. For anyone reading this book, that was the scary thing. To be so fascinated by the arcane arts, only for your body to be used and soul forcibly made hole again as someone’s thrall? 

You can’t help but wonder how sentient these things are. The skeletal buddies are dumber than Beanie, and all he does is scowl and try to headbutt things. But souls...that’s deep magic.

And yet, as the fire dies down before you, you finish the book. Secure with the knowledge that not only could you raise thralls, that you could tell if a skull chip was a wizard’s just by holding it in your hands.

Hands that are now empty, the book gone. 

“Oh shit,” You rub at your eyes, feeling a heavy exhaustion settle about your shoulders like an unwanted hug. It’s not...bad, inherently, but it isn’t good either. Just...exhausting. “Should check the fire.” Reignite it before it goes out completely, otherwise you’ll never hear the end of Alice’s bitching.

You go to stand. Only, the world tilts and suddenly you’re falling. You have enough presence of mind to make sure you’re not falling into the fire but still. You hit the camping supplies on the way down, one of the plates burying itself into your rips and the bag of food somewhere under your hip. 

It would have hurt before all of this, now, with no extra padding and everything digging into your bones, you’re left a wheezing, sobbing mess. Trying to find the breath to scream, but it’s been knocked from you and leaving you sprawled out and vulnerable.

Alice is there, suddenly. Hauling you off of the supplies and onto the hard ground beside. “Easy, easy, don’t panic. Try to breathe.” She helps roll you to your side in the attempt to help you breathe better. And after a few heart-stopping moments of sheer panic where you simply can’t inhale, you finally pull in a ragged breath.

The coughing fit hurts. It’s jagged and rough on aching lungs but at least you can breathe again.

“What happened?”

“Tried to stand, fix the fire.” You gesture weakly to its sputtering flames. It’s mostly embers now, easy to reignite but not nearly as warm. “Got dizzy and fell over.”

“You’re alright now?”

“Hurts, where I fell, but I didn’t break anything.” You’ve broken bones before, know the jarring snapping feeling. This just feels like bruising. Deep, nasty bruising, but bruising nonetheless. Alice pulls you into a sitting position by your wrists. You sway, uncomfortable, but the world doesn’t tilt on its axis again. 

“Go to bed.” Alice says, none too gently. “Just...get some rest.” She kneels by the fire as you crawl over to your bedroll.

It doesn’t take you very long to fall asleep.

The next morning, you wake to a dull throbbing pain all along your left side where you fell into hard cooking utensils and boxy cans of food that are sure to withstand an apocalypse. 

It hurts, but no worse than you’ve had before. Bruises heal, usually easily enough, even with your sudden weight loss you shouldn’t have too much trouble recuperating in a matter of days, maybe weeks for the nasty spot on your hip.

You lay with your eyes closed a bit longer, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun on your face as you doze. It’s early morning still, the chill of night is still present, but a new day has dawned and it's time to get up.

You’re sore, so it takes a bit, but you manage sitting easily enough. You rub at your eyes, getting the sleep out of them, and your wrists twinge a little. Nothing out of the ordinary, considering the guns and the melee weapons, nevermind the motions needed for spellcasting.

You open bleary eyes and go to fix your hair, only to find deep purple splotches on your wrists. Handprints, clear as day, from where Alice grabbed you to help haul you mostly upright last night. 

Some surreptitious checking reveals similar bruising along the rest of your body. Not unexpected, perhaps, but the extent is just...a little much. This is, perhaps, some of the worst bruising you’ve experienced. From a simple fall, and Alice grabbing you.

It doesn’t sit right, but you take a breath, pull the sleeves of your shirt down, and go sit beside Alice on the log. She offers a cup of coffee wordlessly, sipping from her own. Tim is happily eating his ghost oats not too far away, which is nice. And unsettling, but it’s good to know he can join the gang for breakfast-

Lost in your thoughts, still trying to wake up, you don’t notice Alice pulling her switchblade from her pocket until she’s making a small cut on the top of your right arm, above the bruise.

You jump, the coffee and cup dropped to the ground. “Hey, what the-”

Your off white shirt soaks up the blood easily, spreading across the fabric easily. Only…

Only it isn’t right. It’s...greyer than it should be. Which is impossible, right-

“Another sacrifice?” Alice starts to bandage your arm without waiting for your approval. She isn’t gentle, normally isn’t, but there’s something about this that makes her seem all the angrier for her patience. She holds pressure against the wound for a few moments, shaking her head minutely. “It’s thinner than it should be. You’ll bruise easier, and the bruises will take longer to heal. Other effects too, like the dizziness. Wounds will bleed more. What did you learn?”

“I can summon skeleton thralls, wizards, now.” You say after she shoots a glare your way. “Figured you could study them outside of combat too.”

Alice doesn’t say anything after that. Just bandages your arm and throws you a clean shirt. 

You’re left to make breakfast alone, with a decidedly hostile air about camp.

(LINE BREAK)

You’re more than grateful, more than eager even, to leave the Buffalo Pile behind. It...stinks, and even given your proclivities you aren’t sure how anyone can live there. It has the right aesthetic, sure, but at what cost?

Besides, leaving the keys to the buffalo skeleton room was just plain old stupid. 

Alice is as happy as she gets. Scribbling in her little notebook about all the things she noticed while you wandered around. Fought a few of the buffalo things too, while you were at it. Alice seems…stronger again, which is nice. Her bonesaw is great, but it does only work against skeletons.

Well, in a pinch she could hurt someone alive with it, but that would be too messy and too slow. So it’s better she keeps it holstered outside of skeletons. There’s only so many times you can wash blood out of fabric, anyway. Bone dust is easier.

“So...you found another one.” She says eventually, tucking the pen and notebook into a pocket. “Think you’ve found the line yet?”

“I’ll find it when we get the necromancers gone.” You say stoically. Eyes forward, scanning for Tim. He’s hard to spot sometimes, being translucent, especially during the daytime when it’s bright. “They’re not gone yet.”

Alice lets out a long, slow breath. “I think you’re already getting pretty close, if you haven’t crossed it already. Isn’t your health worth more than this?”

You half, shrug, bringing your fingers to your lips to whistle. “I’ve beaten the odds so far. Beat the necromancers, figure out where the train ended up again and...wait, shit, is there anything else to do?”

Alice thinks for a moment. “Not really. Nothing pressing, since you gave that Roy Bean the last of the jellybeans.”

“See? Who knows what we might need to take out the necromancers. Maybe, by knowing as much as I do, by learning more, we’ll get an edge on them.”

“You know, you keep saying that. I’m not sure who you’re trying to convince here, me or you.”

A spectral sound off to the left gives up Tim’s location. He seems as ghostly as ever, the wicker he gives off at the sight of you both echoing softly. 

“Hey, boy.” You croon. You’ve always been able to touch him, most can, but he feels more solid now than he ever has. Maybe it’s all the times you’ve almost died. Maybe it’s your newfound connection to the dark arts. Regardless, he’s the only longtime companion you have that isn’t always arguing with you so you appreciate that. “I’m fine, Alice. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be doing this.”

Without waiting another moment, you haul yourself into the saddle. Alice, begrudgingly, hops up behind you. 

You ride off, hoping to make it to Dirtwater before nightfall.

You make it, by some miracle. And once again you’re in your room alone. Tim is in the stables because of a bad storm on the horizon, Alice drowning her sorrows in the bar downstairs. Lloyd will take good care of her, you know that much by now.

There is the book in your lap. Horrifying Concepts of Nex-Mex. Who came up with these titles? Honestly, they’d dissuade most people. Or, maybe, that was the point. 

Only those who were driven stayed to learn.

You read it, like you’ve read the other books before. Mouthing unfamiliar words and searing the ritual circles into your skull. Hunched over, completely absorbed, reading almost aloud to yourself, you wonder why people didn’t do this sort of thing more often.

After all, everyone has teeth. It’s maybe not as glamorous as raising the dead, but it’d do in a pinch. Raining teeth upon your enemies...well, in theory it wouldn’t be too frightening but thinking about it for too long made your spine tingle with fear and anticipation.

You’ve been taking out enough skeletons recently to have collected a decent array of loose teeth. You tend to sell them, but now you have a use for them you may as well keep collecting them.

The book disappears into a void you can now almost see, glimmering at the edges of your vision. So close, yet still so far away.

You spend the rest of the evening writing notes in the old necromancer’s journal that you found so long ago. Correcting things, adding your own thoughts. All past the point where you’ve stuck the clues to their base.

If they’re being so foolish about things, they deserve to be wiped out. Give opportunities to others.

You end up going to bed before Alice comes to remind you about dinner. And you sleep so deeply she cannot wake you.

When you wake up the next morning, you feel….oddly weak. But don’t think much of it. It isn’t until, several days later, when Alice all but begs you for food, that you remember that you hadn’t been cooking at all. And that you hadn’t eaten.

A few skipped meals never hurt anyone, right?

It’s another few days before, one dreary morning up north, you catch Alice staring at you with that critical gaze you’re all too familiar with now, even as you loathe it. 

“What now?” You ask tiredly. You pull your blanket closer around your shoulders, hoping to ward off the cold of this chilly morning a little longer.

“You’ve changed again.” She says, voice flat. “You’re not...you’re not noticing your body as much anymore. You sleep more, I think, but you’ve eaten two meals over the last two days and a few crackers and that’s it. Your...your muscles are withering away.”

You stare at her for a few moments. That didn’t seem right, but...you had been busy. Rereading the journal, now you could understand more of it. Trying to experiment and think things out in your head.

A hand wraps around your arm and you freeze. Alice is crouching in front of you, still towering above you. She’s a large woman, tall and broad with a weather-worn face and deep set eyes that take in more than she looks capable of. One large hand squeezes your upper arm, and you feel it too.

It’s smaller than it was. And there’s no more fat to lose, so your body is eating what it can.

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Alice snorts, shaking her head. “I think you’ve gone too far, finally.”

A dozen defences spring to mind. Excuses, the effects of the new spell, about how you don’t really feel all that different. Only...only…

You know you’re both too smart for that.

“Well.” You shrug her hand away, “It’s not that bad. Not like I can get much uglier.”

Alice snorts again, shaking her head. She stares at you, real hard, for a few moments. Then shakes her head, and goes to sit in front of the fire again. “It’s killing you, quicker than our adventuring is.”

The adventuring is tough, most days, but enjoyable. You shrug, scrubbing at your face with one hand. “I’ll be alright. I’m stronger than I look, you know that better than anyone.”

“People can only go so far before their bodies give out.” She warns. “You’re weak physically, you’re still the smartest person I know but you spend too much time in your head. Something has to give, and it’ll give soon. You can bet on it.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got you and Tim then. You two seem to be able to get me out of any situation. Even the ones I’ve gotten us into.” You shoot her a smirk, and there is a slight grin.

The dread tension lifts for a little while. And you cook a good breakfast that morning, and even remember to eat most of it.

(LINE BREAK)

You scratch at your nose, feeling itchy from all the dust. Bone, and normal, plus dirt. 

It’s been a long day. Mostly spent digging up graves and fighting skeletons. Hopefully, with the population so whittled down, it’ll be safer for Breadwood and others.

“Well.” You say after a moment, leaning against the cemetery gate while Alice is writing in her notebook. “Part of me isn’t exactly surprised.”

“I’m more surprised the cultists didn’t try anything on plot 666 either.”

“13 makes sense, too, can’t blame them for that.” You’re itchy. From the head to toe, from the heat, the dirt, the fighting. The Nex-Mex book presses against your back in a way that hurts, pressing into your spine, but you’re capable of ignoring it for now. No need to tempt fate, not when there’s an ever burning fire nearby and Alice is glaring at you still for picking it up. “Just glad we got another piece to the puzzle, I think we’re real close to working it out.” The base is west of the mountains for sure, but before the canyon.

“That’s fair, I guess.” Alice acquiesces. She stuffs the notebook and pen into a pocket with a gruff sigh. “Well, I think that’s our business here done.”

You nod, pushing off the gate to stand. The world wobbles, a brief moment of dizziness that has you stumbling a few steps, before things settle.

Alice has closed the distance between you, hands outstretched and ready to catch you. There’s a flicker of concern, genuine concern, but it’s gone in seconds. “You alright?”

“Just tired. Think we can make it to Dirtwater?” Exhaustion is thick, suddenly. You are tired. One long day tacked onto an endless array of them. Suddenly, you rather feel as old as you look, and it isn’t a nice feeling.

“It’s too late, I think. We can probably go to Breadwood though. Sure the mayor could get us some bathing water and a bed for the night.”

Destination set, it doesn’t take that much time to find Tim and make your way to the little town. Exhaustion weighs heavy, tugging at your limbs and your eyelids, as you and Alice bathe and get ready to squish into Breadwood’s too small beds.

You’re asleep, feeling suddenly so worn and exhausted, in a matter of moments. Curled into a hard cot that shouldn’t be comfortable, but is safe and horizontal, and that’s all your body needs.

After that, things are a bit of a blur. The exhaustion stays. There’s voices, familiar and not, all indistinct and worried. You fight, trying to move or open your eyes, but your weakened body simply won’t. Content, for now at least, to stay and rest. 

At some point, someone bundles you into a blanket, and many hands carry you. Where you’re going, you’re not sure. You don’t remember much after that either, just sink into a deep oblivion you can’t get yourself out of. 

You’re on a bed, more comfortable than one of Breadwood’s bunks. It takes a few moments for you to register familiar sounds, safe. 

Dirtwater then, your room above the Jewel.

“Told you, you wouldn’t last forever.” Alice’s voice is sorrowful, and solemn. She drapes a damp, cool, cloth over your forehead. “Pushed yourself too far. Least it happened after the fights, and not during one. Those are always a pain in the ass.” Conversational, not angry.

You still can’t open your eyes, or move beyond a twitch of a finger, but you let out a big breath and it sounds almost like a sigh.

“Come on, then. Keep fighting. I know how much you hate slop, much less when it’s watered down like this. So, the sooner you get back onto your feet, the sooner you won’t have to handle it anymore.” 

A gentle hand supports your head and neck, propping you up a little, while the other dribbles a paltry amount of vile, watered down slop into your mouth. You swallow it down because you have no other choice, but you do swallow it down.

Maybe the nursing is exactly what you need. Part of you can’t help but wonder if Rufus, or your family knows. Are you dying? Does Alice know? Does it matter? You’re already walking the line between life and death anyway, you imagine it won’t matter much.

You slip into unconsciousness before the next ‘bite’, letting the soothing darkness wrap you and keep you warm while your body struggles to work out what’s going on.

(LINE BREAK)

Alice is the first thing you see, when you finally open your eyes again. You can’t even try a greeting before she’s pressing a canteen full of water to your lips. You drink thankfully, pleased as the water revitalizes you a little. 

“You were out for a while. Was starting to get worried.” As if she weren’t already. You can see worry lines on her forehead and on the corners of her eyes that didn’t exist before. It shouldn’t, but it’s...almost warming to know that she still cares. “It’s been about a week.”

You manage a nod. You feel better already, maybe it really was just sleep you needed, it’s a fragile peace you know. Your limbs still feel weirdly heavy and stiff, but maybe that’s because of how much your body has changed recently. You can’t quite parse it out. “Tim?”

Alice waves a hand, lips twitching almost into an amused grin. “Worried, like he gets sometimes. Swear the big lug is ready and willing to try to come up the stairs if he think he’d fit.”

“If he didn’t manage to phase through them.” You joke, and you both laugh. Your laughter is short lived, you’re lacking the strength for it, but Alice’s is true and genuine in a way you feel like you haven’t heard in ages. 

Sleep is suddenly beckoning you again, your head lolling to one side as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“Hey, hey. Not quite yet.” Alice twists in her chair to grab a mug of something. “Not slop this time, I swear.” She says, catching your withering glare. 

You manage to get your head up enough to drink the thin soup, but are still grateful that Alice is holding onto the cup when the last of your strength leaves you. 

“There, now you can sleep.” She pats you roughly on the shoulder, adjusts the blankets draped across your body, and then sits back in her chair.

You, for as much as you want to stay awake, know you can’t. It takes very little time for you to manage it, sinking back into the void with no arguments. 

You regain your strength over the next week, ignoring the actual letter Rufus sends for two days while you try to recover.

Alice doesn’t apologize, but you know that she wrote to your family when you collapsed. They haven’t arrived yet, so hopefully that means they haven’t left the farm to check on things themselves. You curse yourself in turns for not being strong enough to just leave right away like you want, and mentally curse Alice because she was the one who wrote them.

Eventually, though, you work up the courage to open it. A real life, actual letter. Who had the time? It was almost ridiculous-

The writing is Rufus’ for sure, and there’s a stamp on it from Boring Springs alright. You skim it first, trying to look out for a mention of the family coming out this way to check on you. Your heart nearly sinks into the foundations of the building when you finally find it, on the back page of the sheet. They’re coming, they’d been talking about moving this way for a while anyway. Hoping that moving might improve Rufus’ chances of getting into a better school, this was just the push they needed to finailze.

They’ll be in Dirtwater in...you mentally calculate the timing of it all, another month or so. And they want you present to show them ‘the big city’. They’re hoping you can help them get set up somewhere, be it in Dirtwater or somewhere else. 

“They’re coming, aren’t they?”

You put the paper on the desk to rub at your eyes. “Yeah. It’ll take them a while though, they’ve talked about moving out here for a while. Opening a store, maybe, or a farm somewhere. Want my help figuring out what to do, since I ‘know the area’. Besides, living near Dirtwater would be better for Rufus, could mean he could get to a good school.”

“Heard good things about the one in Frisco.” Alice supplies, almost hesitantly. Looking almost apologetic. “You’ve got some time, at least.”

You rest your head in your hands and try to think. Out here, you have a reputation. You and Alice help. You’re people that can get things done. You’re curious, and strange, and recently you’ve been ill but you’re still smart for all the strength you’ve suddenly lost.

The people here, this far west, don’t have any preconceived notions of you. As you’ve changed, adapted, you’ve still been you.

What will your parents think? What about Rufus.

“Did you tell them anything? In your letter?”

“I said you’ve been dealing with a few things for a while now,” Alice admitted, taking a sip of her whiskey. “That they were why you’d suddenly fallen ill, and that you looked quite a bit different. I didn’t get more specific than that.”

That was...something, at least. You let out a shaking sigh, rubbing at your eyes. “Okay, that...We can deal with that.” You sit up, rolling your shoulders with a grimace. “You up to leave Dirtwater tomorrow?”

Alice frowns then, “I don’t think-”

“If I stay here this entire month, I’m going to lose my mind worrying. We’ve still got some things to do. For the Perfessor, just to explore, we still need to figure out how to get that guy to leave the Fort of Darkness and set up a shoe shop here.” You shrug. “And who knows what else as we wander around more. I just..” You sigh, fidgeting. “I don’t want to sit here waiting for them.”

Alice stares at you for a while, clearly mulling it over. “Okay. Tomorrow morning, then. But if you start feeling worse, or start feeling that tired, or start up with a fever-”

“We’ll come back. And...I don’t know, we’ll do something here.” You shrug. “Sure Dirtwater could use a doctor, and I’m sure there’s local work around here I can pick up.” Regardless, even if there wasn’t, you have enough money to tide you over until you figure out something to do, or feel well enough to go back out.

Who knows, there are still some plots of land around Dirtwater. Maybe you can build a museum for your ridiculous hat collection. Tell stories of what you’ve done to children and have them pay you for the privilege. It’d be easier on your body for sure, and if you get a bit of land close to Dirtwater you won’t be nearly so isolated like when you still lived at home. 

“Alright, deal.” Alice nods once, sharply, tucking some loose hair behind her ears. “Alright, you rest up then. I’ll come back with dinner in a bit.” She turns on her heel, and is out the door before you can get a word in edgewise. 

You manage not to look at the Nex-Mex book for a whole hour. You spend some time sorting through your things, organizing your pack and Tim’s saddle bags for the upcoming journey. Hoping to make things easier for yourself.

All your books, the journals included, are relegated to a corner of your desk. Where you ignore the book until you’ve finished.

By the time you turn back to the desk, Dangerously Advanced Nex-Mex has wormed its way towards the center. The other books are still in their pile, looking exactly like they should. But the Nex-Mex book seems intent on you reading through its pages like you’ve read its brethren. 

You stare at it for a while. Fingers tingling with anticipation, heart hammering in your chest, blood rushing between your ears. 

There is no way for you to know this: but you held out longer than any one person in the history of Nex-Mex has. Beating out the Necromancer wasting away on his throne by over an hour. 

The book doesn’t make anyone do anything against their will, and that’s the insidious thing. But it will do everything in its power to ensure its power goes to whomever it deems ‘right’, always willing to have players in the game, and stakes in the game.

This book isn’t as thick as the others. You know enough by now that you learn speedily. In a matter of minutes, secret knowledge is pressed into your brain. Seared into your skull, hiding behind your eyes. This book is about self-preservation, giving you time to act while your enemies cower in fear before you. With everything, there is sacrifice to this opening gambit, but you know it would increase your chances. Especially if you’re ever caught alone.

Besides, who knew such a simple, stereotypical greeting could have such effects on someone?

The book is gone when you blink. You stare at the blank spot on your desk for a little while, breathing, waiting for whatever consequence is going to come.

Your battered body is the same as it ever is. Your vision is a little blurry, maybe, but that’s probably just the exhaustion. Given all the crap you pick up, it’s not surprising your sorting mission was maybe a little too much. You scoop up the books, and nestle them back into your bags. 

The other side of the room is blurred, too. You’re pretty sure you can still shoot well, but it’s distracting for sure. 

Something nags at you, and you go to the vanity. Once again peering at yourself. The emaciated look, withered muscles and all, isn’t a shock anymore. You can already identify your reflection as you now.

Only...your eyes are clouded. Not clouded over completely, just.dulled. Like when your dog had cataracts. Blinking doesn’t make it go away.

Alright, that’s fair. No need to shoot if you can just magic away your problems. Or throw armies of skeletons at it. That’s not too bad. This is workable, Alice has always been the better shot anyway. And it’s not like you’ve been using your gun much anyway, preferring your area of effect spells or the grinning skull. 

Alice is going to be angry, but she hasn’t left yet. Unless this is where you’ve finally crossed the line she keeps lecturing you about. Then there might be some issues, but you aren’t the helpless little girl you used to be either.

You can handle yourself. You and Tim would make an unstoppable force of nature for sure. With or without Alice’s help.

There’s a knock on the door, which is weird. You go to open it and are face to face with Lloyd, who has a few hotdogs for you. Clearly from Doug.

“Here you are.” He takes in your appearance as he always does these days, with a hint of concern and a glimmer of fear. He stares at your eyes for a disconcerting moment, lips twitching into a frown, before he smiles to cover it up. He holds the plate out for you, “Here. Alice is out with Tim at the moment, so I told her I’d bring you dinner. Glad you’re on your feet, you had us worried there. Even Ellsbury.”

You take the food and nod, “Sorry about the scare. Hopefully it won’t happen again. Thanks for the food, we’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

Lloyd nods, and turns to go. 

“Tell Ellsbury he’ll see me tomorrow too.” You add, almost as an afterthought, before closing the door. You do have some laudanum. Hopefully it’ll help Ellsbury take the edge off for a little while. And you’ll get a cool story out of it, so it’s worth the investment. 

You manage to eat one hot dog before packaging the other two to take with you. And then you spend the rest of the evening preparing for your journey. Making sure your clothes are clean, washing your hair, setting everything out by the door, before turning into bed. 

Alice doesn’t come in before you manage to fall asleep. When morning comes, early morning sunlight filtering in through the window, you aren’t surprised that she doesn’t say anything about the state of your eyes.

You can smell the alcohol coming off her before you even get on Tim. It’s an icy silence that greets you as you ride off towards the west, but you don’t mind. 

Gives you more time to think, anyway.

(LINE BREAK)

The next couple of weeks pass by quickly, too quickly for your liking. You spend a lot of time in between places on your map resting, enough that it’s grating on your nerves. It’s keeping Alice content, though, which is a good enough reason to let her continue.

It’s better than the alternative, anyway. At least this way you aren’t arguing in circles or anything. Tension is better, too, when you’re wrapped up in blankets and left to snooze while Alice keeps whatever concoction you’ve made from burning. 

Even Tim seems happier, which is weird to think about. For a ghost horse, he’s really perceptive. Maybe he’s so perceptive because he’s a ghost. It’s hard to tell, harder to think about, and you’re the closest thing you have to an expert on the matter. Tim’s presence is no less a mystery than when you first purchased him.

It’s an interesting puzzle to think about, at least. Keeps your mind sharp as you try to find the logic in his existence.

Currently, though, you’re preoccupied by something else. You’re staring into the necromancer’s journal, at the assorted clues you’ve picked up over the course of your adventures, and you can’t help but think you’ve finally cracked it. 

You’ve figured out what all the other clues meant. You know it’s somewhere between the mountains and the canyon, near the Hellstrom Ranch. The crash course in ley lines, and the map the Perfessor gave you, really helped to narrow it down to a few locations. And now, you even have the password: Abra-cadaver. Honestly, though, that’s just sloppy security right there, leaving a password lying around like that

“I think we can go after the necromancer today.” You say, as you set the journal down and pull out your well-worn map. It’s covered in drawings, been stained by more cups of coffee and whiskey than you’d care to admit to, and is close to falling apart already, but you love the damn thing. When you retire, you want to frame it.

Maybe you can show it off alongside your hats, you think to yourself. Looking between the map and the journal, piecing it all together. 

“Here.” You say finally, gesturing to a blank spot on your map. “It’s got to be here.” Circling the area you mean. “It’s the only spot that makes sense. Even the death oysters grow up this way.”

Alice stares at the map for a few long moments, expression unreadable. “We’ll go after him today?”

“Yeah.” You agree. “Today.” You fold the map back up, and help Alice pack up camp. You start riding in the right direction, and things seem to be going well, but before you know it you’re half asleep and Alice is too deep in her bottle to really course correct and then you’re awake in a curiously dead copse of trees.

“Where are we?” You ask, rubbing at your eyes tiredly. 

“Dunno. Tim must’ve taken a wrong turn.” It’s cold here too, unnaturally so. Alice behind you is a welcome warmth, since Tim is of no use in that department.

“Let’s just turn around, find our way back to the trail.” Alice says. “Come on, boy, turn us around-”

Only you catch something out of the corner of your eye. A book, propped against some branches of these old dead trees. You can tell what it is, even from this far away.

And Alice notices it too. “No.” Her voice trembles. “No, no. I’m putting my foot down this time. You’re dying, even without the adventuring, you’re dying and you’re changing, and I won’t be responsible for your family coming home to a grave.”

Before you can do or say anything else, she’s leaning around you to grab Tim’s reins. And kicks him into an unsteady, almost panicked, canter. 

You struggle against her, but her strength is no match for you now. As the copse disappears behind you, you get the sense you’re never, ever going to be able to find it again. And as much as that fills you with rage, a small part of you feels relief too.

By the time you regain control of yourself, you can see it. Looming above the horizon like some tacky halloween decoration that is beckoning you on like your mother used to beckon you home. It should feel like the Buffalo Pile, only it doesn’t. The swirling energies around it are familiar to you now, even with your failing eyesight, and you want so badly to sink into it like you sink into your bedroll each night.

It takes a bit of time, but you eventually ride to the entrance. Alice is stiff-lipped and looking surprisingly sober for how much she’d been drinking this morning. Her shotgun held close, her bone-saw hanging from her belt like your gun still hangs from yours.

The tower is as unnerving as it is beautiful. Even the area around the tower is affected by the amount of necromantic energy spilling from the place. The ground is sandier here, more dead, the plants shriveled and dead yet still somehow physically present. 

As you and Alice approach the door on foot, you can’t help but admire the building. Okay so it isn’t as nice looking up close, the architect was drunk or scared, but it sure fits the aesthetic. Black support structures are random and interspersed through the piles of skeletons and bones that make up the walls.

You step a little too close to the door and the skull above it screams; “Password?!”

It doesn’t even scare you, you’re not even surprised this kind of enchantment is present. You can see glimmers of it, swimming in the air around the skull. “Abra-cadaver.” 

There is an audible click from the door as it unlocks, and you reach out to open the door. Opening it for Alice as well as you step inside.

Eugh. The rest of the tower is as tacky as the outside as it turns out. RIght aesthetic for sure but turned up to a weird 11. Not...the greatest, but it would strike fear in the unsuspecting.

Alice is clenching her shotgun close like a lifeline. Sticking near the door as you venture further inside to explore.

Therey is a...font. Ancient, stone, cracked. Covered in glittering runes that are begging to be read. You approach, even as Alice warns you away, fingers tracing the arcane secrets as you read them for yourself. They glow darkly under your touch, with the same dark enchantment that touches everything Nex-Mex.

Three names. Of bone-void, of a bone-that-never was, and bone-hatred. You turn to the dark fountain spilling blood towards the center of the room and drink from it as it bids. You feel...better. More alive, almost, healthier, like this blood was what you’ve been needing to keep yourself going all along. 

Besides, nothing too bad about a blood fountain, right? It just sets the mood, honestly. Alice is scared, fingers white where she’s still holding tight to her shotgun.

You’ve both been ignoring the rattling of bones for a little while now, and you turn as one to face them.

You don’t even take a steeling breath before striding over to the army of skeletons milling around near the ladder. Alice follows quickly behind, clearly expecting a fight. You’re not sure if she sees it, but you do.

The skeletons shrink back a bit from you, clearly seeing the mastery in your eyes. Or maybe something else, like the lack of fear. They must not see much of that.

The three names rise to your tongue without a second thought. It’s almost like the dark howdy spell, only more effective. They start exploding into the void before you even finish, leaving the way up unobstructed. 

Alice is trying to speak to you, but you pay her no mind. You’re here for her benefit after all. May as well continue, now you’ve finally found the place.

The next floor is smaller. And there is another font, cracked and ancient with power untold. Close by there is a bone tower seething with hatred and anger.

The font gives you two more names as you trace the runes. A name that hatches void from a toothed egg, and a name that banishes minds. Useful, maybe, in the long run.

You can feel Alice’s scathing glare at your back, but it doesn’t stop you.

You don’t even give the skulls time to talk before you’re annihilating them. The names come to your tongue again, and the tower collapses and fizzles into dust at your feet.

Alice is trying to talk to you again, but you press onward. You feel...better, stronger, more powerful than you’ve ever been and you’re so close to the thing that’s caused this you can sense them.

Two gigantic, hulking skeletons loom over the other ladder. Facing towards you, almost expectantly. They don’t attack, not yet, giving you ample opportunity to sidle over to the new font. They have names sprawled across their foreheads, it’s unclear whether it’s their own names, or their partner’s names. 

Regardless, they’re the names on this font. And you have no qualms banishing the skeletons. Even if they are find examples of what a skeleton should be.

You climb up the ladder behind them. You know, now, that you’re at the top of the tower. 

It’s candlelit. Candelabras flank both sides of the room, leading up to a chair. No, a throne.

As you get closer, Alice following behind so close you can feel her life radiating from her like heat, you see it.

A withered husk sits on the throne. This man, if he can even be called that, is responsible for it all. Almost more mummy than necromancer, frozen rigidly in place because he hadn’t even been bothered to move? No wonder security was so lax-

You laugh, long and hard and loud. Nearly hysterical. It’s ridiculous that this thing was responsible for all the pain and suffering you’ve seen. Even your own.

His mouth opens, a rebuttal maybe, but only dust comes out. You laugh all the harder at this bit of news, and stagger over. Reaching, grasping for a crown you know will fit you. You can consume him, take whatever meagre power he has left and take it as your own. That woul be punishment enough. 

You hear Alice’s shotgun rack. And you freeze, half turning to face her. She’s trembling, face tear-stained, and pointing her gun at you with trembling hands. “Don’t.”

“Alice, it’s fine-”

“We’re here to destroy him.” Alice sniffles. “Not-not for you to take his place. You’ve been slipping, you’d have lost yourself completely if I let you read that book and I couldn’t let you, and I can’t let you do this.”

“I’ll use my powers for good-”

“Your family is coming!” Her voice is shaking as much as her hands, for the first time in all you’ve known her. “They want to see you, not a shriveled husk that plays god with other people’s bodies.”

You half turn to face her. “You haven’t shot me yet.”

She swallows dryly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before opening them. Her jaw is set, and there’s new determination in her eyes as she adjusts her grip on her gun. “Do I have to?”

You turn back to the husk staring at you with beady, dried up eyes. You could. And then what? Alice would shoot you?

You’d promised Rufus he’d see you in your last postcard, and you’ve never been one to break your promises. Do you want to risk turning into this….thing?

You drop your hands, and breathe a puff of air at the necromancer. He crumbles to dust, and the crown falls to the floor and shatters. 

You’re left trembling before the dusty pile, and Alice drops to the ground and cries. Great heaving sobs that echo strangely in this chamber. 

You take a step back, too, before your legs give out from beneath you and you’re left staring at the dusty monument to what you could have become. 

You sit, staring at this reminder, until Alice collects herself and you leave. Turning Tim resolutely towards Dirtwater.

(LINE BREAK)

The sacrifices you’ve made for your power are permanent, there’s no way to unlearn these dark secrets, but back in Dirtwater, you feel a little better. After the confrontation with the necromancer, you and Alice both spend a few days recuperating. 

Then, she starts seeing people as a doctor, and you start looking to buy a parcel of land close to town. A hat museum sounds more and more inviting, and hopefully if you have some property of your own you can keep your independence. 

Your parents, and Rufus, will want to smother you. But you have Alice and Tim to help you as you get your bearings in this new world you’ve helped to create. Things are safer now than they’ve been since the Cows Came Home, besides which, you’re more than capable of protecting yourself.

Sure you can’t shoot very well at a distance anymore, nor do you have the strength for a melee weapon, but you have your magic and you’re very powerful.

You’re lounging in bed one morning, content to snooze and sleep in as the town springs to life outside.

“They’ll be here at some point today.” Alice says. She’s taken apart her shotgun and is cleaning the pieces at the desk. The smell of gun oil is comforting now, after all this time. It’s weird, how much you’ve changed in a little less than a year. 

You wonder, not for the first time, if your parents will recognize you. Or if Rufus will. You shake off the stab of fear, half shrugging. “I know. Don’t know when, though.”

“They know to come here, at least. Hopefully Lloyd will come get us.”

You nod, laboriously rolling over and sighing. “Do you...want to come stay with me? When I figure out what land to purchase? I figure, with the West being safer, the city is going to grow pretty quick. Figure we might be encapsulated by the city before too long, and Dirtwater will need its share of doctors.”

Alice has her back turned to you as she cleans. She doesn’t immediately answer, still cleaning. 

“You don’t have to. Don’t mind splitting the Meat we’ve collected, especially since we got Curly’s treasure.” You shrug, swallowing dryly in spite of your outward nonchalance. “It’d be enough for both of us to get settled, regardless.”

“Yeah.” Alice says after a moment. “Ain’t like I got anything else going on. I’d like to keep an eye on you, anyway. Besides-”

“Tim’d miss you.” You grin. Alice twists in her chair to shoot you an amused smile.

“Yeah, that too.”

You can hear Alice putting her gun back together, and you set about getting up. The immediate weakness has diminished, Alice is making sure you eat, and the rest has done you some good, but you’re still tired. Weighed down by otherworldly secrets, and a body that has experienced many wounds and given up a lot of itself in less than a year.

Alice isn’t sure, even with all her checkups, but she’s hoping that you’ll feel better given some more time to rest and recuperate. Now you aren’t fighting and living hard, hopefully some amount of health will return.

You brush your hair, putting into familiar pigtails your family will hopefully recognize, then search through your things for an outfit that isn’t a complete fashion disaster. The clothes fit at least, and with proper layering it hides the worst of your thinness. Not completely, but it makes you look a little healthier at the least.

You smooth down your lapels, squinting at your reflection in the mirror. “How is it?”

“Better than most of your outfits.” Alice chuckles. “I think it’s good, it’s the right impression.”

A knock interrupts you before you can properly respond, and Lloyd sticks his head in. “Your parents are here.”

You take a big, shaking inhale. “Thanks Lloyd, we’ll be down in a minute. Get them a drink please, on my tab, we shouldn’t be too long.”

Lloyd nods before backing out of the room.

“You ready?” You ask.

“Are you?” Alice retorts.

“No, but it’s not like I can avoid them forever.” You let out a shaking breath. “Okay, lets get this over with.”

You open the door, and head downstairs. Eager, if nervous, to face your new future.


End file.
